


Bright Above

by genarti



Series: Wings of the Day [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 2, Edoras, Family, Gen, Pastiche, Rohan, do places count as characters if I describe them at sufficient length
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 21:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13773162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genarti/pseuds/genarti
Summary: A small company of riders came ambling along the wide track that led downwards from the great dark gates of Edoras.





	Bright Above

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saraste](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/gifts).



**Edoras, T.A. 3001**

A small company of riders came ambling along the wide track that led downwards from the great dark gates of Edoras. Green was the terraced hill above them, and green the soft grass below; but the road was of brown earth, and deep-rutted by the passage of wains. The horses of the Mark trod lightly along it, and their riders sat easy in the saddle.

First among them was a young lad, no more than ten years of age by his face, though already he had the height of a stripling youth. His mother had given him the duty of scout, to judge the route and watch for danger; and the lad, whose name was Éomer son of Éomund, held as proudly to his duty as any man of the Mark. Even here in the Wold of Rohan, between the white-flowered barrow mounds of his ancestors and mere strides from the gates of his uncle the king, young Éomer gazed about with keen sharp eyes.

Next came a girl, mounted upon a pony. Yet even the children’s ponies of the Horse-lords are proud sleek creatures, with arching necks and strong hearts; and all the more, when that child is sister-daughter to the king. Éowyn’s flaxen hair was already tangled by the wind, though it had been brushed and braided only an hour before. She was a merry child, quick to anger, quicker to joy: her father’s joy, her uncle’s darling. She loved best of all to gallop across the sea of grass, breathless with laughter; but she had as well something of the solemnity of her forebears, for as often as she ran shouting along the terrace of Edoras, so too could she often be found curled in a corner of the carven hall of Meduseld, gazing upon the rich paint and the woven tapestries and thinking silent thoughts. Now she turned her face to the sky, closing her eyes against the sun.

Last of the three was a woman upon a blood bay. Her horse was tall and proud and long-legged; and so it suited her, for she had the stature of Men of old. Her golden hair was caught back in a fillet, and left thence to stream down her back; and the wind tugged teasingly at its locks, and lifted her green sleeves as she rode. She smiled as she rode, and her horse Léoht arched its neck and pranced, as if to reflect her happiness. She was Théodwyn, bright joy of her people, sister to Théoden King of the Mark, wife of Éomund of Eastfold, and mother of the two children who rode before her along the way.

“Mother!” cried Éowyn. “See there, a hawk!”

“I see it,” answered Théodwyn. Léoht lengthened his strides to draw nearer, and Éowyn’s pony Apple arched his neck and flicked back his ears as if he might grow to the same height through wishing it. “What kind of hawk do you think it is?”

Éowyn hesitated, seeking an answer without success. “Rough-leg,” answered her brother, from ahead. “See, sister, how it flaps to stand watch still in the sky!”

“You were too quick!” she cried. “It was I she asked, and I nearly had the answer!”

“I was helping you,” protested Éomer. Éowyn trotted forward, the better to scold. Her mother watched for a moment her daughter’s small straight back, and a few paces beyond, her son’s face mingling indignation and indulgence. 

Then, though she kept an ear pricked for the sounds of a true quarrel, she turned her gaze skyward. The hawk hovered there still. “Bold heart, bright eyes!” she murmured. “How far do you see? From so high above, you gaze on Rohan’s joy. Not hawks nor Men nor even the eyes of Elves can see all that will be; yet I say today that these two children of the Mark will grow to bring pride to all Éorlingas.”

The hawk folded its wings suddenly and stooped upon some small creature in the sea of grass. Théodwyn followed its dive with her gaze; and so did Éomer and Éowyn, their disagreement forgotten. Above them all, the golden Sun glided on in its fiery course.


End file.
